My Queen In The North - Tumblr Posts
I will never understand the idea that Arya would be unhappy as a queen. If she was queen consort, she would set the standards and fashions for what women are allowed and it would be a main part of her job to help those less fortunate through charitable work, which she wants to do. Not to mention she would be in the perfect position to influence the king’s policies. If she were queen regnant, she would be even more powerful and in a position to expand the role of women in her society. She would also be able to enact her own policies that could improve the lives of everyone. There’s literally no downside to Arya being a queen … except if you’re anti-Arya.
“She is here. Arya has been shaped for rule by experience. She has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of her education. She reads and writes, she speaks several tongues, she has studied history and law and poetry. A septa has instructed her in the mysteries of the Faith since she was old enough to understand them. She has lived with fisherfolk, worked with her hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash her own clothes at need. She can fish and cook and bind up a wound, she knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. Most have been taught that leadership is a right. Arya knows that leadership is a duty, that a leader must put her people first, and live and rule for them.”
In the godswood she found her broomstick sword where she had left it, and carried it to the heart tree. There she knelt. Red leaves rustled. Red eyes peered inside her. The eyes of the gods. "Tell me what to do, you gods," she prayed. For a long moment there was no sound but the wind and the water and the creak of leaf and limb. And then, far far off, beyond the godswood and the haunted towers and the immense stone walls of Harrenhal, from somewhere out in the world, came the long lonely howl of a wolf. Gooseprickles rose on Arya's skin, and for an instant she felt dizzy. Then, so faintly, it seemed as if she heard her father's voice. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," he said. "But there is no pack," she whispered to the weirwood. Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall. "I'm not even me now, I'm Nan." "You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the north. You told me you could be strong. You have the wolf blood in you." "The wolf blood." Arya remembered now. "I'll be as strong as Robb. I said I would." She took a deep breath, then lifted the broomstick in both hands and brought it down across her knee. It broke with a loud crack, and she threw the pieces aside. I am a direwolf, and done with wooden teeth. - Arya X, ACoK
Arya is so rarely associated with faith and prayer in this fandom, yet when she prays to the Old Gods for guidance, they respond and restrengthen her sense of self. Arya of Winterfell! Daughter of the North! She is a direwolf and done with wooden teeth! ✨🤍🩶🐺✨
I can tell I'm Arya-pilled to the max because I'll see other Arya stans talking about the questionable morality of her executing Daeron and I'm just like "That was so Lady of Winterfell-coded"